A Bit of Luck
by Asidian
Summary: A series of misfortunes befall the Crimson Squad candidates during a training exercise in the desert. Amidst all the bad luck, Gippal wonders if he should take a chance on something important. Gippal x Baralai.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I was so -sure-, playing FFX2, that there would be fanfiction out there. -So- sure. I've only found a handful of Gippal x Baralai fics, though, which really ought to be a crime. Go forth, all of ye, and write! I can't read my own fics, dammit. ^^  
  
More actual Gippal x Baralai will show up in the next chapter; just setting the groundwork, here.  
  
Warnings? Yaoi. Gippal x Baralai. Potential spoilers. Possible technical inaccuracies (ie.- problems with descriptions of Spira, event order, etc). Correct me on these please, folks.   
  
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A Bit of Luck  
  
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Somehow, sand had gotten into his boot.   
  
Not surprising, considering that tiny grains flew up every time he took a step-- and that these, bane of his existence though they were, were just a tiny portion of what he was beginning to suspect was an endless set of dunes.   
  
What still managed to surprise him was the sheer level of annoyance that it had reached. He'd grown up in the desert, after all; when he'd had parents to go home to, they'd spent much of their time scrubbing the sand from between his toes and behind his ears. He couldn't recall it ever having bothered him before. Certainly couldn't recall an impulse so strong as the one now-- to tear off the offending article and leave its contents to join the rest of the desert.  
  
But then, his childhood memories of Bikanel hadn't included carrying a gun, or the mandatory half-rations that had left him irritable for the past several days. Tellingly, an injured leg also failed to feature prominently in any of them. As did the idiotic ban on healing of all kinds.   
  
Perhaps if the sun had been a little less wilting, or the gash just below his knee didn't burn quite so badly. Perhaps if they'd managed to find just a bit of luck in the mess that they'd been living through, the whole set of ludicrous events from the past few days would have seemed bearable. Maybe then he could have waited until Nooj announced that they could stop for the night. But no one had ever accused Gippal of being a patient man, and the sand was the final misfortune in a stack that was growing to impressive size.  
  
Without preamble, Gippal plopped down in the sand, gingerly stretching the wounded leg out before him. "That's it," he declared, leaning back to rest his weight on the palms of his hands. "Break time."  
  
It was, of course, less than a full second before the incredulous gazes of his team members were on him.  
  
"We haven't covered the allotted ground for today," came the immediate correction. He wasn't at all surprised to find Nooj's disapproving stare-- complete with the beginnings of an intimidating frown-- heading his way.  
  
"Well," Gippal offered in return, "The allotted ground's going to have to wait a bit, isn't it?"  
  
"It's imperative that we reach the finish within the time limit," their leader insisted, for about the eighteenth time that day. "If we fail this section of the training--"  
  
Rolling his eye skyward, Gippal waved a hand dismissively. "--we won't have a chance of getting into the squad. I know, I know." He reached forward, unconcernedly, to begin unlacing his boot. "Few minutes isn't gonna make a difference much one way or another though, nekrd? (right?)"  
  
"It will make plenty of difference once we..." Nooj trailed off mid-sentence, diverted as Paine hoisted the sphere that she carried habitually by her side. His utter lack of amusement might have been funny, had the situation been different. "We don't need a record to remind us of this," he informed her, tone clipped.  
  
Whatever reply she might have made was cut short, though, as Baralai picked that moment to lower himself shakily to the sand below. It was the first time in hours that the Al Bhed had gotten a good look at his companion, and the sight was enough to unnerve him. The usually distant features were tight with pain, and the ashen cast to the boy's face was visible even under dark skin.   
  
As he wrested his foot from the offending article of clothing, Gippal felt a wave of sympathy. At least he'd only damaged his leg in the scuffle that they'd come so near to losing.   
  
This time, the disapproval in the eyes of the Deathseeker wasn't meant for the Al Bhed boy. "Both of you?"   
  
Keeping his head bowed, Baralai studied the sand between his fingers. "I'm sorry."  
  
Scowling, Gippal tossed a handful of sand in Nooj's direction. "Ur, keja ed y nacd . (Oh, give it a rest.) It wasn't his fault."   
  
And indeed, it hadn't been. They'd all agreed that Baralai ought to keep the map; after all, he had a sort of knack for it, was able to pinpoint their location in places where the rest would have unhesitatingly given up.   
  
It had been nothing more than terrible luck. None of them could have known that the same claw swipe that was to tear the flesh from his side would also tear through the fabric of his pocket. It was only after they'd resumed their travels some hours later that he'd realized the damage ran deeper than physical wounds.  
  
Their map had been reduced to two strips of paper, both blood-soaked and illegible.   
  
Nevertheless, the Al Bhed was of the opinion that Nooj was being somewhat of a bastard. Baralai had sustained the worst of the injuries in their little group, after all. He'd also kept pace uncomplainingly for the two days since the incident-- had gone so far as to assure them that the wound wasn't bleeding any more.   
  
The Al Bhed boy suspected that he'd been lying.  
  
The Deathseeker pressed his lips together, displeasure still evident in his expression.. "I suppose not," Nooj conceded unwillingly. He thought for a moment, shaking his head slightly. "That doesn't mean that he can slack off now, though."  
  
"What can I say?" Gippal grinned upward as he freed the second foot. "Dissention in the ranks."  
  
As though to prove the point, Paine zoomed in on their leader's reaction; she'd begun to record, after all.  
  
With a long-suffering sigh, Nooj joined them on the ground. "Fine. But we travel again shortly."   
  
"Cuihtc kuut. (Sounds good.)" And Gippal flopped backward onto the sand, intending to make 'shortly' as far away as possible.  
  
~end of part 1~ 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Huh. I'd meant to start relationship-building in this one, but they seem to be taking their time. I promised a friend a make-out scene, though, so it's bound to happen eventually. ^^  
  
Uhm, same as the last chapter: if anyone notices any detail inaccuracy, point it out. So, too, with out-of-characterness.  
  
Warnings? Yaoi. Gippal x Baralai. Enjoy!  
  
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A Bit of Luck  
  
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Chapter 2  
  
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It was some seven hours later that they finally stopped for the day, long after the chill of night had begun creeping past the protection afforded by his overcoat.   
  
He'd been grateful when at last the sun had crept below the horizon; its absence meant that the blistering heat would finally leave them in peace. The only other blessing in what had been so far an endless stream of miniature disasters: Nooj had decided against a fire, allowing him the freedom of finding a spot on the sand immediately, with no need for concern over appearances.   
  
In all honesty, the boy had been fighting just to put one foot in front of the other when Nooj had ordered them to stop for the night. He'd been dreading the scrutiny that doubtless would have come in the flickering light of a campfire; Baralai didn't delude himself into thinking that his companions would miss the fact that he'd simply ceased to use his right arm.   
  
Of course, it wasn't the arm that was wounded. That, he could have handled. Made a sling for it, been careful not to move it too frequently.   
  
It was his entire side that seemed to be on fire, though, great knife-twists of pain assaulting him every time he drew breath. It had gotten to the point that, every time he lifted his arm, the resulting tug of flesh had him seeing small black dots. And so, he simply didn't use the arm.   
  
After a day with every step spent wishing that he could die quietly, the sand was blessedly cold and soft beneath his palms. Before his mind had managed a coherent protest, he'd lain down, cheek pressed against the tiny grains as he listened to the debate that was still raging.  
  
"It's out of the question." That would be Nooj. The boy didn't even need to see the disapproval in his face; the tone was enough to convey everything. "Absolutely not."  
  
"Have you ever -spent- the night in the desert without a fire?" And there was Gippal, quick with a retort as always. "You might wanna die, but none of the rest of us do!"  
  
Had the pain been a little less, Baralai might have joined in the now-familiar banter. Antagonizing Nooj was a good way to pass the time, certainly-- but the Al Bhed boy had a knack for making something of a game of it. It was just easier to have fun when Gippal was involved, he supposed.   
  
"Attracting fiends won't help," Nooj insisted. He didn't seem about to give any ground, nor did his protest have any of the for-show-only quality that Gippal's did.  
  
Paine's voice ventured in next, a bit heavier with near-exhaustion. "We do have sleeping bags," she pointed out. "We shouldn't freeze to death."  
  
"Cruimth'd (Shouldn't)." Gippal snorted a laugh. "Usually I'd agree. Lately, though, I'd be surprised if we didn't."  
  
From his place on the sand, Baralai cringed. It was hard not to be reminded of a simple fact: the whole nightmare chain of events from the last few days had begun as his fault. And truthfully, the boy was a firm believer that the whole situation remained that way, still.   
  
His mind had taken to replaying the scene several times an hour: their leader, cool and composed, peering into Baralai's pack in search of the map. He wanted a progress update, and the boy had complied, removing the neatly folded document from the inner pocket of his overcoat. He didn't like keeping the map in with their other equipment, he'd explained.   
  
It might get lost.  
  
And oh, Gippal had been making light of it-- and Paine and Nooj had for the most part avoided placing the blame-- but it was true just the same. And since the map had been destroyed, very little -hadn't- gone wrong.   
  
With the four of them injured and suddenly uncertain as to their destination, they'd been slowed considerably. True enough, he knew the direction that they were supposed to be aiming for-- but the desert was so uniform in its utter lack of landmarks that they could have literally walked within a hundred yards of their target and passed on by, never knowing.   
  
It had been a day of uncertainty, a day of worry and second-guessing himself. He'd known very well that if they didn't complete the endurance training section of the program, none of them would be getting into the Crimson squad.  
  
The day after had managed to prove even worse, however. The first light of morning had brought the realization that they hadn't been alone for the entire night: their packs were torn, the contents strewn about on the sand. That it seemed to be the work of a wild animal was a blessing of sorts, Baralai had to remind himself. Any fiend that moved silently enough to get past the person on guard would simply have killed them all.   
  
The end result, though, was nearly as bad. All the food was missing. Fortunately, only one of the canteens had yielded to the force of the teeth that had left such prominent marks on the others. Still, the rations that had been only half of what they'd grown accustomed to were gone, and now they were low on water.  
  
Baralai had been confident that they could reach the designated finish camp well ahead of time. With the loss of the map, though, their chances of finding the place at all were slim.  
  
And then, a hundred tiny calamities had set in, beginning the afternoon before and carrying over to today. Sand had insinuated itself into the joints of Nooj's leg. For a time, Paine's sphere had mysteriously ceased to work. Gippal's hair, notoriously untamable, had wilted under the desert sun. Fiends abounded, and the pain coursing through him was great enough that he had to think twice before raising his arm to shoot.  
  
Gippal's impromptu travel break had been the only relief in the bleary hours of agony. He'd meant to thank the boy, but the dark glare that Nooj had been sporting was enough to kill the comment before it left his lips. Later, he told himself. Remember to do it later.  
  
If they got a later.  
  
He was barely conscious to hear the end of the conversation; the dark above and stretching out to either side blurred together, throbbing red in time with the pulse in his side. He hadn't realized that they'd been talking as his thoughts wandered, hadn't been following along. Only now did Paine's voice come, as though from a long way away, bringing up the subject of first watch.  
  
They talked more; voices flitted back and forth in tones that were familiar to him, though the meaning of the conversation remained just beyond his reach. Vaguely, he became aware that someone was saying his name, again and again, recognized the impatient tone that Nooj resorted to just before his worst moods hit.  
  
Somehow, it was only Gippal's words that pierced through the exhaustion shrouding his brain. "Oh, let him sleep. I'll wake him when it's his turn."  
  
But it was morning when Gippal shook his shoulder gently, peering down with a worried smile.   
  
  
  
~end part 2~ 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: Well. Half of this was written during a lecture in my class. The other half was written while I was falling asleep. Is it even coherent? ^^ Additonally, I had no idea where it was going, and now the one scene I'd imagined is unworkable. So! Different ending is in store. Looks like next chapter will wrap it all up.   
  
Thanks so much for reviewing!  
  
Warnings? Yaoi. Gippal x Baralai. Language. Enjoy!  
  
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A Bit of Luck  
  
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Chapter 3  
  
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It was just past noon on the following day that Gippal heard the sound.  
  
Barely audible over the fall of footsteps in sand, it nonetheless nearly stopped his heart: a low noise, something like a gasp that turned halfway into a sob. And then came the sound of flesh connecting with sand, and he knew immediately what had happened.  
  
"Shit," someone swore softly, though Gippal's mind was too distracted to register who.  
  
He was already moving, turning to face Baralai, cursing softly at himself for listening to the boy when he'd insisted that he was alright to walk. Their companion had fallen nearly ten paces behind, and it was this distance that Gippal closed with hurried steps, falling to one knee in the sand as he reached toward the boy.   
  
Baralai was lying face-down, unmoving, evidently having pitched forward mid-step. Lifting the boy gently, Gippal took note of the unhealthy flush that was visible even through the darkness of the boy's skin.   
  
For a moment in silence, the Al Bhed boy watched Baralai's chest as it rose and fell in shaky gasps and his lips, cracked with desert travel. Still breathing, Gippal's mind assured him, and inwardly a relief so strong that it bordered violence poured over him.  
  
At length, Nooj spoke. His voice sounded drawn, and there was an infrequent hint of concern amidst the commanding air. "Get out a sleeping bag."   
  
It was a sign of how much the man had changed, Gippal supposed, that no suggestion was made of leaving the boy.  
  
Paine moved to comply, and there was a rustling as the girl fumbled open her pack-- and then she was bending to kneel beside Gippal, unrolling the fabric and smoothing it out. They moved together, not needing to ask what ought to be done. Gippal hooked his hands through the boy's arms while Paine seized his ankles, and it was short work to get him onto the sleeping bag.  
  
Nooj had closed the distance between them; when he spoke, his voice drifted from just behind Gippal. "Lift him," the man commanded, joining the pair awkwardly on the sand. One hand reached absently to pull his pack nearer.  
  
"Yeah, sure." Rubbing his hands together, Gippal lifted the boy gingerly into a half-sitting position, supporting him with a hand on either shoulder. "Got him."  
  
"Good." The man spared them a brief glance, most of his attention focused on finding something amidst his equipment. "Now, Paine, take his shirt off."  
  
"Right," the girl was quick to reply, though her hands shook a little as she fumbled at the clasp of Baralai's overcoat. It came off easily enough; Gippal guided the sleeves over the unconscious boy's arms and left it in a heap on the sand. By the time they'd succeeded in divesting him of the white shirt underneath, Nooj had found the rest of their bandages.  
  
"Okay," the man began, turning to face them. "Now, I need you to hold him up a bit more." Their leader paused, expectant, but Gippal didn't respond.   
  
He was too busy staring at the bandages wrapped around Baralai's torso, now caked brown with dried blood.  
  
The Al Bhed boy gritted his teeth, hoisting his companion higher. "Uv ymm dra cdibet, cdippunh cred ra luimt'ja bimmat... (Of all the stupid, stubborn shit he could've pulled...)"  
  
He was so angry, in fact, that he didn't realize Nooj had finished until the man stood, dusting sand from his pants. "We need to keep moving," he announced.  
  
"Right," Gippal conceded unhappily, laying the boy back against the fabric of the sleeping bag. He was moving to stand when he froze, catching sight of fresh blood on the clean white fabric wrapped around the boy's chest.   
  
"He's bleeding still?" the Al Bhed demanded, eye narrowing as he leaned forward for a better look.   
  
Nooj shook his head once. "It tore." His words were clipped, displeased. "The bandages stuck, and we couldn't spare the water."  
  
Much as he hated to, Gippal could see the logic in that. But the spot of bright red against the too-white bandages was growing, and he couldn't help the worry that had come to settle in the pit of his stomach.  
  
"Paine," Nooj instructed, "Put your sphere away. Get his gun."  
  
Looking shaken, the girl did as she was told. For a fleeting moment, Gippal wondered if she knew how to shoot. It was a concern quickly pushed aside, though; if they were attacked with any sort of force, he doubted that they'd survive it, regardless.  
  
Behind his glasses, Nooj's eyes were determined. "Right. Let's get moving."  
  
Lifting his end of the sleeping bag, Gippal began to limp through the sand once more.  
  
===============  
  
The first shot fired was Paine's. And later, when Gippal had time to think about it, he would be impressed.  
  
His instinct had been to call to the man atop the dune for help-- because even had they possessed full rations, and even if they hadn't been in the middle of the desert, Baralai needed healing.   
  
When they talked it over some weeks later, Paine would claim that she'd put several simple facts together: One, that the walls surrounding their destination camp were supposed to be constructed of ruined machina. Two, that for the past half-hour or so, they'd been encountering random bits of cogs and circuitry that Gippal would have loved dearly to take apart in any other situation. Three, that in order to pass this section of the training, the camp was to be entered by force.  
  
At the time, Gippal thought that the girl had just been jumpy, and squeezed the trigger too quickly. And for all that she protested otherwise, he suspected that was the truth of it.  
  
Regardless of the reason, however, the shot was fired, and the next few seconds were a blur of motion.  
  
Near the guard at the top of the hill, another appeared; then another, and one after that. He knew that the bullets had begun flying when the sand nearby flew up in bursts, was half-aware that Nooj had dropped his half of the sleeping bag and was returning fire.  
  
The Al Bhed boy stood frozen for a moment, mind alternately refusing to process the situation and insisting that he do something-- anything-- to get the wounded boy out of the range of fire.   
  
He never got time to react, though, because that was when they threw the first grenade.   
  
Gippal hit the ground hard, feeling the first of the burns that would bother him later as a distant sting under the adrenaline. Sand poured down around him in a steady roar, stung his eye and found its way in between his lips.   
  
And somehow, through it all, he discovered a dark, delicate hand-- and when his fingers closed on it, the hand clung desperately. He found the boy at the other end of it even as the second grenade came bursting in, and the Al Bhed hauled Baralai to his feet and a few lurching steps away from the guards atop the dune.  
  
"Cover." Gippal didn't recognize his own voice. It was too thick with sand and lack of water, but he tried again anyway, in hopes that Nooj and Paine would hear. "Cover!"  
  
And then he was dragging Baralai behind him, ignoring the sand in the air and the fact that they were both knocked to the ground by another blast.  
  
Another few steps would be enough. Just another few steps, and they'd have the cover of a ruined sheet of metal wedged upright in the sand. He'd wondered what it was for as they passed it the first time; now, he didn't much care, as long as it proved to be enough for their needs.  
  
Their shelter held, and they waited. It was too long a time that they listened to their own breathing, harsh and raspy, and to gunfire and the sound of explosions.  
  
And then, very suddenly, the fight beyond their cover came to a stop. Nothing filled the desert air but pained gasps, and Gippal's mind couldn't decide whether their companions had been shot or had succeeded. Certainly, it was too great a risk simply to call out for them. He hadn't paid attention to the rules of this training session, and now desperately wished he'd thought to; at least that way, he'd know whether the guards were instructed merely to patrol the fortifications or to take an offensive role.  
  
Even as he turned the options round and round in his head, a new idea occurred to him. Baralai had never fallen asleep during a briefing for their training sessions. He'd know exactly what the guards were meant to do, would have memorized all the rules, if only so that a way could be found around them.  
  
It was only when Gippal turned to face the boy, though, that he realized the flaw in his plan: Baralai had passed out again.  
  
~end part 3~ 


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Well, it seems that I've lied. There is going to be another chapter after this one-- I could end it here, but I think that it needs something a little more definite. And more GippalxBaralai. ^^  
  
Warnings? Yaoi. Gippal x Baralai. Language. Enjoy!  
  
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A Bit of Luck  
  
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Chapter 4  
  
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There was pain when he woke, and darkness.   
  
All was quiet; every part of him had been beset by bitter cold. Everything ached, and a portion of his side felt as though someone were carving it apart.  
  
For a moment, Baralai closed his eyes against the pain, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat in his throat.  
  
And then a voice came to him from the darkness, gave him something to focus on besides the pain.  
  
"Hey." It was Gippal. He had never heard the Al Bhed so worried, and it scared him. "Hey... you awake?"  
  
Tentatively opening his eyes once more, Baralai discovered that he could now make out the outline of the boy against the faint traces of moonlight. He managed a nod, brief and scarce of movement.  
  
"Good." There was silence for a moment. "That's good."  
  
Baralai lay without responding, letting his mind drift uneasily over a dozen different thoughts. At length, he asked the most pressing question that came to him. "Where are the others?"  
  
Or rather, that's what he might have said. In actuality, he only managed to rasp out the first syllable before his voice gave out, throat too dry to form the words. The sound turned into a wheeze and then a dry, wracking cough, every part of him screaming with pain as his body shook with the force of it.  
  
It wasn't until the agony whiting out his vision had subsided and his breathing slowed to something resembling normal that he took note of the hand squeezed tight in his own.   
  
Gippal's hand. He was holding Gippal's hand.   
  
Two days earlier, the boy would have pulled away, would have been glad of the darkness to hide his blush. But it was cold, and he hurt all over, and the Al Bhed wasn't making any move to pull away.  
  
After a time, Gippal spoke. His voice was low, and soothing. "We're out of water," he explained gently. "Cunno. (Sorry.)"  
  
Baralai licked his lips once, twice, trying to moisten them enough for speech. "S'okay," he croaked, the sound almost lost even in the stillness of the desert night. "But--" and here he broke off, fighting back another fit of coughing "--but... where's everyone?"  
  
The Al Bhed boy was slow to reply. "Not sure," he admitted at length. "I think... I think we found the camp, though."   
  
Baralai closed his eyes against the sudden despair that settled over him, against the flood of thoughts that shifted in his mind at the revelation, whirling.   
  
So close. They were so close, and still... he couldn't move. Could barely talk, much less lift a gun and help Gippal put an end to this nightmare of a training session.   
  
Someday, the boy told himself bitterly, there would be a Crimson squad. But they would not be a part of it.  
  
Aloud, he asked the question that he was sure he knew the answer to already: "What time is it?" His voice was closer to normal, now; almost, he could identify it as his own.  
  
"It's been dark awhile now," the Al Bhed boy told him, leaning back against the wall. His hand, though, didn't let go of Baralai's. "If it's not time already, it will be soon."  
  
The boy listened for a moment to the silence of the desert, traced with his eyes the soft, moonlit outline of the dunes. He was shivering slightly, but Baralai's thoughts were far from both the cold and the hurt-- were years ago, in fact, recalling warm blood in a street so shattered that he didn't recognize it any more. Remembering the first time that he'd known the sick despair of hopelessness, and remembering a promise that he'd made to someone who would never hear the words.  
  
He'd wanted to make a difference. He'd wanted to be a part of something that could make the lives of everyone on Spira a little less cruel.  
  
A sad smile tugged at the corners of the boy's lips. "I didn't think it'd be like this," he whispered quietly.  
  
"Rao, rao, (Hey, hey,)" came Gippal's voice, suddenly loud against the night. "It's not like anything, yet. Once the sun's up, we'll get you to camp. After the session's over, they'll just let us in, nekrd? (right?)"  
  
Searching out the dark outline of his companion's face, Baralai watched the Al Bhed boy. "...I'm sorry."  
  
The snort of disapproval was somehow more expressive than Gippal's tone. "You say that too much."  
  
Baralai ignored him, determined to make the Al Bhed understand. "I wanted to... to do something, but all I managed was to pull everyone else down with me. I'm sorry." Had his position allowed it, the boy would have bowed to make the apology complete. "I've ruined everything, and I'm sorry for that, most of--"  
  
But he never finished the sentence. With a soft end to an inner debate that his companion hadn't been aware of-- "Ur, vilg ed. (Oh, fuck it.)-- the Al Bhed boy leaned in a pressed a kiss to his lips.  
  
Gentle as it was, it hurt. His lips were cracked and bleeding from the time spent in the desert, and somehow, the boy managed to forget about his injury long enough to raise a hand to Gippal's face and trace the jawline with an exploring thumb.  
  
When at last the contact had gone, Baralai wished dearly that he could see the other boy's expression, could read the reaction there. Instead, he was left with words-- awkward, startled words that didn't quite amount to what he wished them to ask. A stuttered "Why?" forced its way past his mouth, but nothing else would follow.  
  
"Hu naknadc. (No regrets.)" Gippal replied, evidently not caring about the possibility of driving the boy insane by answering a serious question in a language he didn't speak. Baralai very nearly commented to that effect-- opened his mouth to, in fact-- but was spared the trouble when the Al Bhed boy clarified.  
  
"I've been thinking about it for awhile. But I mean, if we don't get into the squad, I might not see you anymore." There was something sad in Gippal's tone, and something defiant. "It'd be stupid not to try it out and then just not get a chance."  
  
Despite himself, Baralai felt his mouth creeping upward into a smile. "I guess so." The change in positions earlier had separated Gippal's hand from his own, but the injured boy found it again now. "And... I don't mind."  
  
They were motionless for a time, together, as they waited for the sunrise.  
  
But they weren't to greet the new day here. It was only a few minutes later, in fact, that Nooj's voice came drifting up behind them: "Can either of you walk?"  
  
"Wha-- " came Gippal's voice, utterly dumbfounded. "How-- what did you--"  
  
It was Paine that answered, voice low. "We only have fifteen minutes before midnight," she advised. "We have to get moving."  
  
Hands were on him, then, careful but not gentle enough to avoid the necessary agony of sitting up. A half-choked cry escaped him before he could fight it down, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.  
  
"Quiet," Nooj instructed. "We knocked out the guards, but if someone else hears we can't go through with this."  
  
For a moment, the pain-residue was enough to burn away all his thoughts; after a moment, though, they began to reform themselves, and their leader's words registered. "You... you already made it to the camp?" he whispered softly, voice rough with pain.   
  
"They did what?" the Al Bhed boy demanded; Baralai could picture him, eye wide with shock, gaze snapping from Nooj to Paine and back again. It was approximately the level of bewilderment that he was experiencing, himself. "You did what? You're... you're cheating!"  
  
The utter disbelief in Gippal's voice and the sheer absurdity of the situation-- Nooj cheating on anything, for any reason-- forced a cracked laugh from deep in Baralai's throat. "Aw, Nooj. Didn't know you c-cared."  
  
When pain exploded through his side as Nooj and Paine lifted him, leaving him too out-of-breath even to scream, Baralai suspected in a small part of his mind that the timing had more to do with shutting him up than any real decision-making.  
  
"Let's move," their leader commanded. And they did.  
  
Suspended between Nooj and Paine, arms draped over their shoulders, Baralai sucked air through his teeth in tiny gasps. He felt like his side was splitting open every time they took a step, but refused to scream. There would be plenty of time for screaming later, the boy's mind assured him feverishly. Plenty of time to scream when it wasn't dangerous for someone to hear.  
  
And then, abruptly, the rhythmic agony of movement came to a shuddering stop, and he was lying on the sand once more. Hissing out a breath of relief, Baralai squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the pain to recede to bearable levels.  
  
"Alright!" It was Gippal's voice, a triumphant whisper. "Now, where're they hiding the healer?"  
  
"Not yet," Nooj corrected, and the dark outline of the man shook his head once. "You need to tell the maester that you've arrived-- and do it quickly, before the time's up."  
  
Paine's voice was an anxious hush when she spoke. "We're going back to our tents. Wait a second before you start out."  
  
There were footsteps in sand, and Baralai opened his eyes just in time to see them walking away. Above him, only Gippal remained; and in the space of several heartbeats, the Al Bhed too was moving away from the edge of the camp and the injured boy that lay there on the ground.  
  
Baralai waited in silence. Above him, he noticed for the first time, the stars were very bright in the black of the sky.   
  
They drifted in slowly at first, snatches of speech and garbled words. The first voice that he could understand was Gippal's, though; louder than necessity dictated, he was recounting what they'd experienced in the vast desert before the camp. And making a few things up along the way, of course.  
  
He was only half-aware as the noise grew louder around him, closed his eyes against the press of bodies in torch light and the faces bending to peer more closely. The sound of voices was strange after the quiet of the desert night, and his side still ached in time with the beat of his heart.  
  
Still, there was a quiet joy that had settled against the boy's chest and in his throat, overwhelming everything else. And when the Al Bhed knelt beside him, leaning close enough to whisper in his ear, Baralai couldn't stop the smile that spread slowly across his face.  
  
"We're in," Gippal told him, tone tight with excitement. "We're under the limit."  
  
Because there was a lot to smile about.  
  
~end part 4~ 


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: Let me just start by saying that I am so, so sorry to anyone who was following this fic. The time that this chpater took is just insane. All I can say is... life happened. In a not-necessarily-pleasant sort of way. That's my only excuse-- gomen.   
  
Also, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to beanclam. Not only has she put up with me, but she also requested making out. I hope this lives up to expectations.  
  
Warnings: Yaoi, making out, sap. Enjoy!  
  
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A Bit of Luck  
  
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Chapter 5  
  
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Beyond the cloth walls of the tent, the sky had begun to fade into the steely grey of early morning, not yet casting enough light to see by. Inside the makeshift dwelling, an oil lamp burned fitfully. All was silent, save the steady sound of peaceful breathing. All was still.  
  
For a boy like Gippal, usually so enamored of action and excitement, it was a strange event when he took the time to appreciate moments as they passed. In truth, the Al Bhed hadn't yet realized how much time had gone by; hours had simply slipped away, the hush of the room a natural part of them. All his attention had come to rest upon the dark skin of the boy that lay sleeping less than an arm's distance from him-- and somehow, the passage of time seemed less important when confronted by such a task.  
  
Baralai had been healed, and it showed in both his face and manner. The ashen cast had faded from the dark skin of the boy's cheeks, and his brow was no longer haunted by pain. His lips, cracked from the heat, had been smoothed over, though Gippal could still recall the tang of blood from their shared kiss.   
  
Had the Al Bhed boy not been so intent upon his companion's face-- had he not been so fascinated with the curve of his jawline and the gentle parting of those lips-- he might not have noticed the first signs of awakening. The eyelashes fluttered once, revealing a hint of warm brown, and it was all the warning Gippal needed. By the time that Baralai had attempted his first croaking plea for water, the Al Bhed was helping him to sit and offering a glass.  
  
For a long moment, the only noise was that of small, desperate gulps as the boy drank-- and then Gippal pulled the glass from his grasp. Batting away the hands that reached instinctively for the container and ignoring the alarmed expression that his actions caused, the Al Bhed offered a reassuring smile. "Hold up a minute. You're gonna make yourself sick."  
  
Even in the dim light of the tent, he could make out the struggle that flitted over Baralai's features. In the end, though, the part of the boy that knew Gippal was telling the truth won out, and the only response he offered was a quick nod.  
  
When the Al Bhed presented the glass to him the second time, the boy took it more carefully, the sips longer but less rushed. It was several minutes before Baralai downed the rest of the water, and when he returned the empty glass, the desperate edge seemed to have gone from his thirst.  
  
Shelving the container, Gippal turned his full attention to his companion-- the downcast eyes, warmly brown in the light of the flickering flame, the white hair hopelessly rumpled from sleep. Slowly, a grin crept onto the Al Bhed's face, an expression both delighted and mischievous. Had Baralai been watching, he'd have recognized it as his friend's about-to-something-insane look.   
  
But the boy wasn't paying attention-- by the melancholy cast that had begun to tinge his features, Gippal suspected that he was intent once more on the negative what-ifs that he so hated himself.   
  
And so, of course, there was only one logical option: distraction.  
  
Before Baralai had a chance to protest, or had even realized what was going on, Gippal flopped comfortably into his lap.  
  
"Lraan ib! (Cheer up!)" came the mock-command, the playful tone matched by the sparkle in the single aqua eye that Baralai now found himself staring into. The Al Bhed grinned wider as the boy turned an interesting shade of crimson, dark skin doing nothing to hide the blush.   
  
"You weren't dreaming," Gippal reassured, ignoring the startled expression that had bloomed across his friend's face. "About any of it. We made it under the limit-- so you don't get to worry anymore!"  
  
Baralai had to lick his lips before he could reply, and even then the words were shaky and a little hoarse. "But we almost weren't," he insisted quietly. "And I'm still--"  
  
The sentence was cut off abruptly when Gippal's hand reached up to cover the boy's mouth. "Oh, no you don't. E's cunno, E's cunno-- (I'm sorry, I'm sorry--) No more of that!" This time the tone of Gippal's voice was quite serious, and the grin disappeared for a moment, replaced by something resembling the previous worry. "It's over. We're done. Even if it -had- been your fault-- which it wasn't-- none of that would matter now."  
  
"But I -am-," Baralai objected.  
  
"Well, you shouldn't be," the Al Bhed countered. "After all, the whole mess convinced me to do something I've been meaning to do for awhile." Gippal paused for a moment, lifting an eyebrow. "Unless you're sorry for -that-?"  
  
"I-- no," the boy protested, blush returning after a brief absence. "I mean-- yes. I mean--" Evidently realizing that his stammering wasn't making sense, Baralai cut himself off abruptly, brow furrowing slightly the way it always did when he was attempting to gather his thoughts.  
  
It was at precisely the moment when Gippal opened his mouth to tease him about it that the boy leaned down to kiss him.  
  
It was clumsy, and uncertain, and it was only a moment before the awkward angle forced them to break apart. But Gippal was breathing a little heavier for it, and an amazed little smile tugged its way across his lips.  
  
"Good answer." A single aqua eye searched his companion's face and trailed lower, appraising. "But why are you way up there?"  
  
Abruptly rolling out of Baralai's lap, the Al Bhed grabbed his friend by the collar and tugged him downward, chuckling at the startled yelp that his actions yielded. And when the boy fell heavily against him and a pair of startled brown eyes were inches from his own, Gippal's grin returned in force. "That's better."  
  
This time, it was the Al Bhed that leaned in for the kiss, and it was neither clumsy nor uncertain. Gippal knew very well the best ways to drive a person crazy with his mouth-- several of the girls and a few of the boys at Home could attest to that fact-- and if the small noise that he'd managed to wring from Baralai was any indication, he was doing a good job.   
  
So, too, was the hand that he felt a moment later, tugging ineffectually at the collar of his shirt-- and, never one to protest the loss of clothing, Gippal reached to oblige the boy.  
  
Using one arm to roll Baralai from the position above him, the Al Bhed lifted himself into an awkward kneeling position for just long enough to divest himself of the shirt. Much approving of the new set of circumstances, he settled himself on top of his companion with a triumphant grin. "Your turn."  
  
Setting to work simultaneously on the boy's buttons and on exploring his mouth, Gippal allowed his free hand to push cloth aside, feeling his enthusiastic way along an expanse of dark skin. It didn't take much to realize that the unconscious shifting of Baralai's hips did little to keep his hand steady enough to tend to shirt buttons, but frankly, the friction was too great an added bonus for Gippal to break the contact.  
  
It was just as the Al Bhed had managed to wrest the last button free and was beginning to tug his companion's shirt up by the hem that the voice came crashing into his brain.  
  
"A moment of your time."  
  
Starting guiltily, the two boys flew apart, red-faced, to find that Nooj and Paine were watching them from the entrance to the tent. The girl seemed more than a little amused; their commander, however, had an impatient air to both his stance and tone. Feeling his cheeks darken, Gippal realized quite suddenly that they likely hadn't heard him on the first attempt to get their attention.  
  
"I thought you should know," Nooj told them, disapproving gaze trailing from Gippal to Baralai and back "That breakfast is soon. And that there won't be another meal until they distribute rations." With that, the man turned to leave the tent, moving with his peculiar, jerky gait.  
  
"And," Paine flashed them a curious little smile, "That you still have fifteen minutes." With that, she hastened after their commander.  
  
Staring after the pair with a single aqua eye wide, Gippal gave a shaky laugh. "Well," he offered, "They took that well."  
  
Glancing over to Baralai, the Al Bhed was amused to see that the boy looked very near to suffering heart failure. His eyes were huge, mouth gaping open and closed almost imperceptibly. The expression, combined with the fact that the boy's hair was hopelessly tousled and his shirt still open, gave Gippal all the momentum he needed to assault the boy once more, pinning him to the bed in the space of approximately five seconds.  
  
Grinning down at his captive, the Al Bhed leaned in for a kiss-- long, and slow, and insistent. The warm brown of Baralai's eyes and the feel of the boy's body underneath his was something that he'd waited for entirely too long. Shifting his hips to gain more contact, Gippal thought dimly that he'd have to do something about the infuriating cloth that was keeping skin from skin.  
  
"Gippal," the boy gasped, voice hitching slightly as the Al Bhed broke the contact in order to trail a line of kisses down his throat. "Gippal, we shouldn't-- You h-heard…"  
  
"Exactly," the Al Bhed purred. "You heard the girl. We still have fifteen minutes."   
  
When the only sound that came by way of protest was the little noise as he reached Baralai's collarbone, Gippal smirked and began pressing kisses down the smooth expanse of his companion's chest.  
  
They were almost on time for breakfast.  
  
-owari-  
  
Closing Notes: Plug time! For more of my work, check out www.thecastings.com. It's my joint-effort webcomic, complete with pretty boys, angst, and yaoi implications. And the art's fantastic! 


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